


macchiato blues

by distractionpie



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, DBH secret santa, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 22:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17948399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractionpie/pseuds/distractionpie
Summary: There are four stores on the intersection of Main and Seventh.The cafe where Hank Anderson works, a rarely open bookstore, and two newly opened units - a tattoo shop and a florist.A new regular catches Hank's eye, but his hot and cold attitude is hard to handle.





	macchiato blues

There are four stores on the intersection of Main and Seventh.

A faded second-hand bookstore which rarely seems to be open; DV8 tattoo parlour; the Rose of Jericho florist; and the Pump and Grind cafe.

The bookstore is ancient and the tattoo place and the florist are both recent additions, but the coffee shop is a neighbourhood staple, the kind of place where a customer could ask for their usual only to find it already waiting for them because the staff had started preparing it the moment they’d step inside. There are a revolving door of local college students who work there but two regular head baristas.

This morning, Hank Anderson is on shift.

The commuter rush has passed and he’s presently drinking more of the product than he’s selling, mornings have never been a strength of his but working coming in at six am means that he can leave at half past two to ready pick Cole up from school which was the whole point of taking this job in the first place.

In these quiet hours the sound of the bell which indicates a new arrival catches Hank's attention immediately and he looks up promptly, though more from curiosity than a particular eagerness to work.

The arrival is a new face, probably a visitor to the area, a dark-haired young man with a sweet looking face that's curled in a thoughtful frown as he looks around the place.

“Welcome to the Pump and Grind,” Hank says, “What can I getcha?”

“A caramel macchiato, please,” the newcomer orders.

“Name?” Hank blurts out, even though it isn’t really busy enough to justify it and none of the other half dozen people hanging around have ordered macchiatos. Hank isn’t above occasionally indulging the little power this job gives.

“Connor,” the guy says, then squints a little at Hank’s faded nametag. “Pleased to meet you.”

Hank starts work on the coffee as Connor continues to look around. “This place isn't what I was expecting,” he says, “From the name.”

Hank shrugs. “The owner was trying to put the bar back in coffee bar,” or something like that anyway, Hank had been given the whole spiel back when he first started but it had mostly gone in one ear and out the other. “This isn't a trendy enough neighbourhood for that though. We have a tattoo place now, but a florist opened at the same time so I think they cancel each other out.”

At that, Connor smiles and Hank splashes milk all over the counter.

Firstly, because 99% of the time his customers are caffeine deprived and grumpy; secondly because even the chipper ones who are smiley aren’t smiling at him; and thirdly, because, well, Hank had noticed the guy was good looking the moment he’d arrived, but smiling he’s beautiful.

The drink Hank hands over is no doubt the most mediocre beverage ever served in the cafe but while Hank doesn't want to give Connor substandard service it's hard to focus on making coffee when being smiled at like that.

He feels a little guilty about that when Connor pays with a ten-dollar bill and then drops all of his change in the tip jar, but taking the coffee back and remaking it at this point would be strange.

Hank tries not to watch like a creeper as Connor takes his coffee to one of the tables by the window, shrugging his coat of and giving every impression of somebody settling in rather than just trying to get a caffeine fix, but it's hard when it's such a quiet shift and Connor is by far the most interesting thing in the store.

He lingers for a full hour, long after his drink is finished and he's left swishing the dregs around his mug, and when he finally gets up to depart he returns his mug to the counter instead of leaving it at the table like this tiny little cafe might have a bus joy lurking just out of sight and thanks Hank with a level of sincerity better suited  to a deeply personal favour than Hank serving him the coffee he paid for.

The rest of his shift passes without note and at noon, Gavin arrives so that they can both cover the lunch rush and then Gavin will man the place until close.

The lunch rush itself isn’t that bad, there’s no chance for breaks but unless something goes wrong it’s usually not too hard to keep up with the flow of orders. Honestly, the worst part is Gavin who Hank always thinks ought to be looking for another job because from, the moment his apron is on, un-tied strings trailing the length of his legs, Gavin is bitching.

Hank’s got nothing against a good vent session, he’ll happily listen to the college students stress about their coursework or the single moms coming in for a pick me up getting salty about the PTA moms, but Gavin’s complaints have gotten old.

“--asked for a fucking triple iced --iced, in fucking winter, so I had to go back to the goddamn freezer-- soy latte with whip and when I told him we were outta non-dairy whip he said regular was fine so then why did he insist on soy, I had to open a new fucking carton--”

When he first started he used to bitch about any and everything under the sun, which was annoying but at least it wasn’t repetitive. But for the past few weeks Gavin’s rants have been all about one guy and Hank has heard everything he cares to about Gavin’s nemesis. Several times and at _length_.

According to Gavin the guy comes in at least once during all of Gavin’s shifts and orders a different ridiculously complex custom beverage, hangs around and takes a sip or two of his order and then departs, leaving most of the drink unfinished.

The first few times Hank had tried pointing out that serving coffee was, in fact, Gavin’s job but it hadn’t seemed to have any impact. Deep down, Hank can admit that the guy does sound annoying, although his reasons are slightly different from Gavin’s -- Gavin seems to think it’s an elaborate scheme to personally inconvenience him, Hank mostly just doesn’t see the point in all that waste.

The lunch rush is no more bothersome than usual but Hank is glad to get away, leaving Gavin to the afternoon shift and waiting for complicated coffee guy to come and provide him with the subject of tomorrow's rant.

The next day proceeds in an entirely usual fashion, but the one after once again sends Hank into a as Connor, apparently not the day tripper Hank had assumed him to be, walks through the door. Is his just a longer visit or, and Hank hastily crushes any instinct to get invested in the idea, could he be new to the area and a potential regular?

“Morning Hank,” Connor greets, as if remembering barista’s names is just a thing people do. He bypassed the counter and perches on a bar stool at one of the tall tables, still near enough to the counter for that Hank sometimes entertains himself by eavesdropping on the conversations people are having at them, and it seems the proximity doesn't escape Connor’s notice, though he uses it to converse. “Do you always work the morning shift here?”

“Uh, weekdays and every other Saturday, yeah,” he says, a little baffled because even the people who feel the need to small talk with him tend to stick to ‘how are you?’ and ‘that weather, huh’

Connor smiles and it's no less stunning than last time but Hank is a little better prepared this time and manages to at least keep from making an ass of himself.

“Same again?” he inquires, gesturing towards the coffee machine, when it becomes clear Connor’s order isn't forthcoming.

“Oh, um,” Connor looks strangely surprised by the question considering coffee is what he came for. “Yes please.”

Hank nods and starts on the drink, determined that this time he's not going to make a mess or a sub-par drink. After all, Connor is unlikely to become a regular at a coffee shop that's just ok.

For a few moments there's quiet which allows Hank to focus on the drink except for the part of him that can't stop noticing how intently Connor is watching him.

He does a good job with the drink though, at least from the look of the thing. It's not like he can taste test.

“Have you lived here long?” Connor asks, when he’s handed his drink. “I’m still getting to know the neighbourhood.”

Getting to know the neighbourhood? Well that doesn’t sound like he’s only here for a short visit.

“It’s pretty quiet round here,” Hank admits, aware he’s not selling the area if Connor hasn’t decided to commit yet, but unwilling to lie. “If you’re looking for a good time your best bet is to head uptown.”

“There are a few stores around here,” Connor says. “All the corner units on this intersection are retail.”

Hank shrugs. “Yeah, but I can’t tell you anything about them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that bookstore actually open and I've got pollen allergies and all the tats I need.”

Connor’s eyes dart over him, goal obvious in the way he lingers on Hank’s bare forearms as his brows into another focused frown.

“Not anything that would be an issue on the job,” Hank adds, these days it's rare for companies to care about that sort of thing but he's old enough that when he was getting his done that attitude was still new and visible tats were still enough to tank employment prospects more places than not so he’s kept his to the ones spanning his chest and a youthful misadventure that covers his outer right thigh, nowhere anyone would see as long as he’s got clothes on.

“Oh,” to Hank’s surprise, Connor sounds almost disappointed, though no doubt he wouldn’t be if he realised that having his curiosity satisfied would mean exposing parts of Hank that haven’t seen the light of day since he finally threw in the towel on making it work with his ex-wife.

“The best thing to do around here is probably the dog park,” Hank says, at least that’s his experience. “But I suppose that only works if you have a dog.”

“No, but I like dogs,” Connor says brightly, and the conversation drifts from there.

The days turn into weeks and slowly Hank starts to anticipate Connor’s visits, always comfortably between the breakfast and lunch rushes, sometimes he talks a great deal, but, while Hank's first instinct is to label him an over-friendly guy he can't help that notice that is Hank is busy when he comes in, Connor always waits for his attention instead of merely directing his conversation towards one of the other patrons.

He perches at one of the tall tables near the counter, one that he uses so habitually that Hank has started to think of it as Connor’s table, which is angled so that it’s almost impossible for Hank not to keep making eye contact with him every time that he looks up from his sketchbook.

It seems strange that he stays in there to draw when the cafe offers take-out drinks for the same price and Hank has seen him from a distance through the window of the flower shop on the other side of the intersection sometimes --just by chance, he doesn’t make a habit of watching where the customers go once they’re out of the cafe-- and it seems to him like there’d be much more inspiration for art in there.

Still, it's been startling easy to slip into the habit of smiling back at Connor, of making mental notes of things to share in future conversations that might amuse him

Hank is too old to deny to himself that he's flirting, but he keeps it careful, easily passed off as just uncharacteristically good customer service if it should turn out that the flirty demeanour is just Connor being Connor and not anything special to Hank. Despite his promises to himself of restraint he’s been growing bolder with every encounter and Connor’s responses have been encouraging.

Today, however, he’s not expecting to see Connor because he’d swapped shifts with Gavin so that Gavin could... well, he hadn’t exactly provided much of an explanation as to why he’d wanted to swap shifts, just wheedled and bitched until Hank had given in to shut him up. It’s annoying, but it’s useful to have the favour in the bag in case he ever needs Gavin to cover for him because Cole is sick or something.

The afternoon shift is tedious as shit, slower than the morning because people don’t need a caffeine fix that late in the day and Hank has resigned himself to hours of bullshit and boredom and, horrifyingly, vaguely sympathising with Gavin because although Hank had always thought Gavin had it easy not having to deal with the morning rush he hadn’t accounted for how dull a slow shift could be. He’s just about to go out of his mind from the dreariness of it all when the bell above the door rings and Hank looks up to see high cheekbones, dark hair, a sharp jawline, all adding up into a very familiar face.

Connor.

Hank would have sworn his eyes were brown before, not this cold blue, but the light in the cafe does strange things at times depending on the levels of daylight creeping through their window.

The moment he thinks it he realises it makes no sense, but for some reason the thought that Connor might come into the shop when Hank wasn't around strikes him as an unpleasant surprise.

Rather than coming directly to the counter, Connor looks around for a moment, frowning. It’s the first time Hank has seen such a serious look on his face and it doesn’t suit him.

And even when he does approach, he doesn’t greet Hank like usual, just walks up the counter and says, “Triple--” then pauses and amends to “Green tea,” which trips Hank up because he’d already been reaching for Connor’s usual macchiato at the sight of him coming through the door.

Connor doesn’t attempt to instigate his usual chatter and Hank frowns. Maybe he’s just busy or in a hurry? After all, last time he’d given Hank the brush off he’d been back to his normal friendly self the next time they’d met.

He could be ill or tired, it makes sense that not even somebody as vivacious as Connor seemed could be bubbling with charm on every occasion, and that would explain the visit outside his usual time and the fact he’s changed his order.

It’s still unsettling, to see him so out of sorts.

Hank wants to see Connor’s smile for selfish reasons, he won’t lie to himself about that, but he also wants to make him happy. So when Connor reaches for his wallet Hank waves him off. “This one’s on the house,” he says. Giving out drinks for free is against the owner’s rules, but Connor isn’t going to know that and if Hank pays for the order out of his own pocket nobody will be any the wiser.

But Connor’s expression just darkens at the gesture and he opens his wallet anyway, laying a five-dollar bill on the counter and taking the drink without a word of thanks.

Hank waits for him to settle in his usual spot, glancing towards the shelf of baked goods and wondering if one of those would lighten his mood or if the fix it with a cookie approach just betrays the fact he spends far more time with his six-year-old than in the company of other adults.

He doesn’t get a chance to decide though, because, for the first time in weeks, Connor isn’t headed to the nearby table but right out the door.

There’s no word of goodbye and, as he crosses the street and heads into the flower shop, he doesn’t glance back even once.

Fuck. Hank had clearly pushed it too far. Of course Connor didn’t want some old man flirting with him. He can’t recall anything specific in their last meeting that would have prompted Connor to push him away, but buying his drink was definitely crossing a line.

He tries to put Connor out of his mind over the weekend, though it’s hard, but come Monday he can’t shake the habit of looking up for Connor every time somebody comes through the door and soon enough it is him and Hank steps back, waving one of the college kids to take over the tills so that Hank doesn’t have to face him and the embarrassing reminder of Connor’s blatant rejection last time he was in here. And given the way that Connor had so brazenly blanked him, he'll probably be pleased not to see Hank and have to make the effort of ignoring him.

Still, he can't help keeping a little attention on the line, so he notices when Connor reaches the counter.

“Excuse me,” he asks. “Is Hank absent again?”

And Person, damn him, says, “No, he's just over there working the machine.”

And a moment later Hank sees Connor’s face.

He must be up on his toes to see over the bulky machine but as soon as his eyes land on Hank he smiles, that same dazzler that had captured Hank’s attention the first time they met, the same smile he'd driven Connor away by trying to elicit just days ago, waving like he hadn’t cut Hank cold the last time they’d met.

“Morning Hank,” he greets. “I hope you're well.”

There’s no hint

“I... Connor, hi?” Hank greets, feeling wrongfooted once again by Connor’s changing demeanour.

“It’s good to see you,” Connor says, “I wondered--”

“Uh, are you going to order anything?” Person calls over, and Connor starts to answer but Hank cuts him off by handing over the macchiato habit had prompted his hands into making before Connor can answer.

One day he’s going to discover the upper limit to how bright Connor’s smile can get, but today he’s floored once again by its heights. “Thank you, Hank,” he says, lifting the coffee to his nose and sighing in a way that’s borderline indecent.

“Yeah, no problem,” Hank assures him, because if having Connor’s coffee waiting for him gets a reaction like that every time... well, no, he probably shouldn’t do it because he’s not sure how he’d cope if he had to see Connor showing such pleasure over his coffee every day.

“Are you well though?” Connor asks again, once he’s settled at his table. “I enjoy your coffee immensely, but I’d

Hank blinks at him in confusion. “I’m fine,” he assures Connor, trying to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the shop window to work out what’s making him look so rough that Connor is worried about his fitness to work. Nothing seems obvious, his hair is perhaps a bit messier than usual but that’s just because there’s been a nasty southwester blowing through, Connor looks immaculate as usual, but almost everyone else in the place looks at least a little wind ruffled.

He keeps wondering as they talk and he can't shake the strangeness of Connor’s apparent worry for him even when more customers arrive and he has to turn the bulk of his attention back to serving coffee.

Connor stays later than usual, Person is clocking off and Gavin has arrived to prep for the lunch rush but he’s still in his usual spot and on his second drink, the first time Hank has ever known him go for a refill instead of continuing with his day.

The changeover and the increasing business means that Hank can’t continue to hang out at the far side of the counter and chat, he has to man the till while Gavin takes over the machine for speed.

He’s just ringing up a group of college students when Gavin blurts out, “Oh shit, it’s that fucking coffee snob back of dicks!” because he never thinks of anything other than his nemesis.

Hank rolls his eyes. “What about him?” because honestly, Gavin’s shift has only just started so he doesn’t have a reason to be annoyed at the guy who hasn’t even arrived yet

“That’s _him_ ,” Gavin hisses, jerking his head towards Connor and Hank freezes.

How can his favourite regular be the same guy Gavin hates so much? Sure, Connor’s regular order is a kind of a froofy drink, but it’s more a sugar overload than anything excessively complex, and whenever Hank serves them to him he never wastes a drop. Could Gavin just be making them really badly? It seems doubtful. The few times Gavin had made Hank coffee when they’d been working together it had always tasted fine, and he sure as hell hadn’t been promoted to a head barista for his excellent customer service skills.

Fortunately Connor leaves before Gavin can do anything stupid like confronting him, but it’s strange to think that Connor is Gavin’s nemesis when Hank had pictured a far less pleasant figure and strange to think that Connor had, in a strange way, just as much of a connection with Gavin as Hank since they both served him coffee.

He tries not to dwell on that though and weeks pass again, their tentative flirtation re-establishing itself though Hank is more conscious than before of overstepping himself before something happens that jolts Hank out of his comfortable routine.

He looks up at the sound of the bell and sees two men walking through the door. One of them is Connor and the other is... Connor?

He blinks, rubs his eyes and the looks again, is relieved to realise that they’re wearing different clothes and he’s not just got so old he’s seeing double.

There’s _two of them_!

Connor, smiling brightly, and then another guy with Connor’s face and Connor’s hair but clear blue eyes and an icy aura.

Of course.

No wonder he’d come across as hot and cold if the guy Hank had made his move on was in fact a total stranger. The one that’s not Connor must have thought him insane.

“Morning Hank,” Connor greets.

“Morning Connor,” Hank acknowledges, then he nods to Connor’s brother, “Confused the hell out of me when you came in while I was covering Gavin’s shift the other week,” he admits, “You two look a lot alike.” The guy must have thought he was nuts, giving out free drinks at random.

Connor turns to his brother, “You’ve been coming here? But you don’t like coffee. And you barely tolerate tea.”

“I have been sampling variants,” Not-Connor says stiffly. “It would be presumptuous to dismiss a range of popular beverages simply because I have not previously enjoyed them.”

Connor frowns and Hank agrees. Forcing yourself to drink variants of something you don’t like just on the off chance you’d discover an exception seemed like an absurd choice -- it wasn’t like there weren’t plenty of non-coffee shops nearby that Not-Connor could have gone to instead. It wouldn’t be hard for him to find some place that served things he actually liked - and he’d no doubt get better customer service than Gavin ever offered.

“Uh... do you two want to order?” Hank asks, before some sort of sibling (and they have to be siblings, there’s no way two people could look so alike if not through shared genetics) argument breaks out in the cafe.

“Oh! Sorry Hank, this is my brother, Richard,” Connor explains, as if introducing your barista to your relatives is perfectly normal behaviour. “He works at the flower shop across the street.”

Hank frowns. He assumed that was where Connor worked from the amount of times Hank had seen him in there, but maybe it had been Richard he’d been seeing and the distance had made it easy for Hank to mistake them, or perhaps Connor was just visiting his brother although they must be very close siblings for him to visit as often as he came into the cafe.

Also, that wasn’t an order. But now he knows that Richard is not Connor Hank can also return to the idea that Connor always drinks caramel macchiatos and since Richard had ordered green tea last time Hank saw him and Connor had indicated he prefers that to coffee Hank decides to go ahead and start preparing one of those too since neither brother seems in a hurry to specify otherwise. Hank is starting to realise that Connor seems to see the cafe as a place to hang out more than to acquire coffees which he doesn't really mind but he doesn't quite know what to do with and at least making the drinks gives him something to do with his hands.

He’s just passing them over the counter when he hears the door from the break room slamming behind him indicating that Gavin has finally got his shit together and is coming to man the machine so Hank can focus on the register.

Richard instantly tenses, straightening a little in a way the reminds Hank of nothing so much as the way Sumo jumps to attention at the word ‘walk’.

For a moment Hank doesn’t get it but then Gavin looks up, and scowls at the sight of Richard.

“Oh, it’s you,” he says, then seems to notice Connor and adds, “For fuck’s sake, there’s two of you?”

Connor looks hurt and Hank makes a mental note to explain to him sometime that if he comes in during the afternoon not to pay Gavin any mind and possibly tell him about how after one of Cole’s visits to the store, when Hank had commented on how unperturbed the kid was by Gavin, Cole had said that he was practising for if he ever got to be on Sesame Street and meet Oscar  the Grouch.

Richard goes deathly pale, the whole pretty much confirming Hank’s budding theory that Richard is Gavin’s nuisance regular.

But why come in and order complicated coffees if what Connor says is true and he doesn’t even like the stuff?

Especially since he apparently usually comes in during Gavin’s shift. But he glares at Gavin like Hank and Connor aren’t even there, pulling his tea towards him like a shield and turning away.

What the fuck?

Honestly, Hank would be quite happy to wave Gavin away and not worry about his bullshit, but Connor seems like the type to care about his brothers business and, since Richard still sort of looks tense as hell, ignoring the situation is unlikely to work.

Comfortingly though, Connor looks at least as confused as Hank is about the weird tension between them.

Eyes still on his brother, Connor fumbles for his wallet but no way is Hank letting him pay for drinks he didn’t even actually order, even if Gavin does briefly stop staring at Richard to glare at Hank when he assures Connor that both brothers’ beverages are on the house.

“Um...”

“Y’know what, I left my cell in my other fuckin’ apron,” Gavin says, then walks right back out before Hank can point out that he shouldn't have his phone on shift and that last time he looked Gavin only had the apron he was wearing.

Richard makes a frustrated sound and Connor looks over at his brother in alarm. “I...”

Sensing that family drama might be about to unfold, Hank lifts up the drinks and hands them over directly. “The corner table is quiet and the acoustics mean it's not easily overhead if you two need to talk.” Hank has his own things he wants to say to Connor but he's pretty sure that conversation will go better once Connor has had a chance to sort out what's wrong with his brother. Hank's hoping the wait won't be too long but Richard looking at Gavin like he had seems to suggest there's something seriously wrong with him.

Hank makes a pointed effort not to watch them, focusing on his work until his shift is over, but he still has time before he has to fetch Cole and, when he looks up, Connor is still there.

There and sitting at the table alone.

Hank didn’t notice Richard leave, although, now he thinks about it, Gavin is staring out the window in the direction of the flower shop with a strange look on his face.

Whatever. He’d been done hearing about what was going on with those two weeks ago, discovering the guy Gavin’s obsessing over is Connor’s brother is a surprise but it’s not enough for Hank to want to encourage Gavin’s ranting.

He’s tried playing it safe with Connor and all it’s gotten him is confusion and mixed signals and sure the worst of those might have turned out to be Richard’s fault but his own cautious efforts haven’t gotten him anywhere and it’s time to go big or go home.

“Hey,” he says, sliding into the seat opposite Connor and feeling a quarter of his age.

“Hank,” Connor say. “You aren’t busy?”

“Uh, I’m off shift now,” he says. “I dunno if you ever followed up on my suggestion about checking out the dog park...”

“I considered it.” Connor sighs. “Unfortunately, I decided it might appear strange to spend time there given that I am not a dog owner.”

“I have a dog,” Hank reminds him.

He’s talked to Connor about Sumo before, but not often and he’s not sure Connor remembers, but Connor nods and says, “A saint Bernard,” with an absurd amount of fondness given that he’s never even met the dog.

“Well, uh, if you don’t have to get back to work,” Hank says, because based on the timings of his visits it seems to Hank like afternoons might be when he’s busiest but he still feels like trying his chances. “I could swing by my place for Sumo and we could go together?”

“Oh,” Connor says, and Hank was wrong, he’s never going to stop being floored by the levels of brightness Connor’s smile can reach. “Yes please.”


End file.
